Lost Boys
by Trispin Javert
Summary: Face was never a fan of fairy tales. His life was simply a series of one difficulty after another, and frankly, fairy tales were gross misrepresentations of reality. But then something happens to make him realize that perhaps he was wrong all along.


Face loathed fairy tales. The fantasy of a person going from rags to riches, the guy getting the girl, the fancy castle, the living happily ever after? These didn't exist in his world. Rather, his story transpired through hazy memories of empty dormitories, lonely nights, of blank-eyed looks as others were picked for a loving home.

No, he knew happily ever afters didn't exist. So instead, he conned his way through life, he smiled and tricked and got what he wanted. Life wasn't going to hand it to him.

Because if fairy tales existed, they certainly didn't exist in his world.

He really didn't bother to give fairy tales much more thought in the passing years. Life seemed to fly by in a stream of general hardship until landing him, world-weary and jaded, in the steaming hellish landscape of war. Ironically, it was there for the first time that he finally began to find a place where he fit in, a team with whom he felt he belonged.

Nevertheless, he wasn't foolish enough to consider the men on his team _family_ – he had enough common sense to know people always left and, well, war wasn't exactly the most stable of environments anyway.

So he maintained his facade of sardonic conman, the charming soldier who was known for loving the girls and leaving them after. He wasn't going to be anyone's permanent Prince Charming. And team or no team, Face knew in the end there was only himself.

* * *

The heat seemed to take on a physical presence that night, pressing down on the world like a torrid flow of a hot breath breathing from the jungle. Too tired to even care, Face stumbled his way into the dark tent and collapsed onto his bunk. Scenes from the day paraded through his mind, worming their way into the rest of his body as he tried and failed to control his increasing breath and his trembling hands.

_Explosions_

_Bullets_

_And death all around him. Blood sliding over his hands and onto his shirt and into his eyes…._

He bit his lip, barely suppressing a moan from floating out into the feverish air. All he could see was the death, death everywhere -

"Facey?" The voice from the bed beside him cut through the chasm of thoughts and heat. "You okay?"

Swallowing, Face locked away the thoughts of death and of blood before taking in a shuddering breath and responding. "Yeah, Murdock," he lied. "You?"

The voice stayed silent for several seconds. For others, a pause like that might be caused by thoughts just not finding their way into words, but that wasn't how it worked for Murdock. Murdock couldn't hide what he was thinking even if he wanted to, the words flew out of his mouth like water from a fountain. That didn't mean he was stupid, by any means. In fact, Face sometimes thought Murdock was the smartest person he knew. The two were known to get into quite a few…disagreements… around the base, and if Face wasn't able to talk his way out, then he knew Murdock would come up with something to help them escape a pounding from their fellow soldiers.

But there was no escaping death. A person could run and hide, but when thrust into the middle a war-torn jungle, of bee-buzzing bullets inscribed with a person's name, suddenly death was the only thing a person could think about. They all handled it in different ways though – Face drowned his thoughts in the bodies of women. BA fought his way through them. Hannibal smoked his cigars and made plans, the jazz burning ever brighter as he vowed to not let the enemy win.

And Murdock, well, Face wasn't sure what Murdock did. Even in the worst of it, with bullets tearing and rockets exploding and everyone barely hanging on save for some insane piloting and a blood curdling howl from the front seat, Murdock seemed to thrive on the life they lived.

Yet Face knew there was more beneath that goofy exterior. He could recognize a façade when he saw one, and it scared him to sometimes see the cracks in Murdock's. If he ever allowed himself to be truly be honest with himself, the fact that he even _cared_ scared him even more. It meant Murdock was getting under his skin, worming his way past his mask and into his heart.

Finally, the voice resumed. "Didja ever read Peter Pan, Facey? When you were a kid?"

Face blinked. By now, he was used to the seemingly unconnected train that was Murdock's thought process. Still, the apparently random question caused him to pause. Unbidden, an imaginary image of Sister Angela sitting on the end of his bed reading him a fairy tale popped into his head, almost causing him to laugh.

At the same time a now familiar bitterness – dulled by time, but nevertheless still there – shot through his gut. "Can you see me reading Peter Pan, Murdock?" His voice came out sharper than he intended. "I didn't exactly have an American Dream childhood growing up."

"Nah, I know, Face," The voice persisted, then fell quiet. The silence seemed to weigh on Face, even worse than the already oppressive heat.

They didn't do this, talk about feelings in the night like they were teenage girls at a sleepover. They were Special Forces for godssake. But maybe it was the circumstances of the day, or maybe it was the fact that it was Murdock that made it tolerable.

He sighed and gave in. He found himself doing that a lot around Murdock. Even BA found it hard to resist the crazy pilot when he really wanted something from the burly mechanic.

"I did read it once, actually. The nuns took us to the library on a field trip." Staring at the sagging springs of the bunk above him, his voice grew quieter as he recalled that trip with the other orphans. He still remembered being fascinated by the way the dust hung in the air, catching the light from the window that caused gilded edges on the book sparkle and shine. "I remember liking Peter Pan's hat." A quiet snort came from the back of his throat. "Pretty sad, isn't it?"

"Not really, no," Murdock said softly. There were several moments of silence before he spoke again. "My mom used to read it to me, every night, before she –" His voice trailed off and there was a sound of shifting sheets. Face just held his breath, waiting.

"I used to wanna be Peter Pan," Murdock finally said, a slight smile coming through in his voice.

Face could feel an answering smile on his face as he turned in his bunk toward the pilot's bed next to his. "That could explain you becoming a pilot."

The squeaking springs from beside him told him Murdock was doing the same. "You mean to say you're more of a nurture versus nature guy, Facey? You think if my mom hadn't read Peter Pan to me as a kid I wouldn't be the stunning, immensely dashing pilot I am today?"

Face groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face. "Aw come on Murdock, I'm not a psychiatrist. Who knows? Maybe if your mom had read you Popeye the Sailor you'd be a body builder."

A nearly soundless laugh floated through the inky air. "Maybe that's what BA's mom read to him."

An image of a little BA tucked into bed in button-down pajamas, snuggling in with a stuffed bear while listening to his mother read _Popeye _sprang so sharply into Face's mind that he gave a surprised chortle through his nose.

"Eat yo' spinach sucka, before I eat yo'!" Murdock's rather impressive imitation caused Face to giggle even harder as he tried, rather unsuccessfully, to stifle it.

"You're going to get us killed!" he hissed through his sputtering laugh.

BA's snoring in the background suddenly cut out, and Face could almost see the whites of Murdock's wide-open eyes glittering in the dark as they both abruptly went silent. He could feel his own heart beating wildly, the suspense thick in the air until finally the sound started up again.

Both breathed a collective sigh of relief. _Thank God. _

Although the immediate danger was past, Face didn't feel quite brave enough to risk more of their conversation. He rolled over into his other side and shut his eyes tightly. The thoughts from before threatened to escape from where he had locked them away, but somehow, they weren't as strong.

"Neverland always seemed like a nice place."

Internally sighing, Face pried open his eyes to once again look over at where is friend was laying in the dark. As his words registered, Face found himself drawn back to memories of shadowy dormitories and empty closets. Despite himself, he found a small part of him agreeing.

"Sometimes I almost think I could go there, you know?" Face could picture the faraway look on Murdock's face as he spoke. "It seems so easy…"

Face licked his lips uneasily. He didn't like it when Murdock talked like this. They already lived a life where tomorrow wasn't guaranteed, and he didn't know what he would do if Murdock succumbed to his fantasies – or nightmares.

"How would you get there?" He kept his voice light, trying to lighten the mood.

"Dontcha know, Faceguy?" and Face gasped in surprise as suddenly Murdock bounded across the row between the beds and crouched down beside him. "It's so easy."

"God, Murdock, don't _do _that to a guy!" Face felt his heart pounding in his chest. He quickly shoved away the sheet that he most _definitely_ hadn't pulled up to his eyes in his fright.

Ignoring Face's outburst, Murdock's pale face floated above him, his eyes bright and wild. "Dontcha know, Face?" he repeated before turning and pointing up. '_Second star on the right, and straight on 'til morning.' _He closed his eyes, his lips turning into a slight smile. "It always seemed like a place I could call home."

Face pushed his feet over the side of the bed and sat up.

"Why don't you go then?" The words came out harsher than he intended. It wasn't what he _wanted _to say, but he couldn't help it. He had thought Murdock was different, but it was just like always. Everyone left him in the end.

Murdock looked at him and Face could have sworn he saw a deep sadness flash through his eyes before he shuttered them.

"Because no one's calling me." He said it softly, matter-of-factly. "'Sides," he glanced down and absentmindedly rubbed his dog tags together. "I was kinda hoping I'd find my home here."

The heat surrounding Face suddenly seemed to become heavier. The air he pulled into his lungs felt thick and heavy. As much as he loathed to admit it, Murdock's words chilled him to the bone. But he didn't _want_ to get attached; he couldn't afford to. And if he was honest with himself, he didn't think he could handle the pain of losing someone he truly loved. He swallowed and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He couldn't do it.

Hearing no reply, Murdock looked up and studied his friend's face, his normally joyful eyes forlorn and bleak beneath his lashes. Shaking his head, he heaved a small sigh. "I guess that's us, Facey. The boys who follow Peter Pan to Neverland."

"You mean that we'll never grow up?" A sound rose up in his throat, harsh and disbelieving. "How can you say that, with the amount of horror and death we experience every day?"

"No, not that," the voice floated through the darkness and the stifling air to land like stones on Face's chest. "I mean we're lost."

* * *

He didn't think much about fairy tales again for a long time. And if he did, it was simply to reaffirm his original thoughts – fairy tales were for the naïve, and frankly, they were pure shit.

It was easy to believe that when you were betrayed by the very government for whom you risked your life repeatedly, when you found your best friend stuffed away in a stinking mental ward overseas, when you saw your own dreams disappear as quickly as the smoke from Hannibal's cigars.

Nope, fairy tales never happened to him.

And so, the months flew into years – funny how quickly their lives seemed to speed along when they were on the run. They all rapidly fell into their routine. Hannibal got them their jobs and got on the jazz, BA refused to fly and threatened them all, Face whined at the indignity that was their lot, and Murdock – he just kept on being Murdock. Quirky, odd, and the glue that held them together.

They formed an unlikely group, knit together by the blood they shed side by side. But they were a team, no matter the country they found themselves in. And war or no war, they stuck together.

So, when Hannibal came to them with a new job and Face commenced his by now obligatory whining, he didn't _really _have a bad feeling about the plan. He knew no matter how crazy things became they always found a way out.

He didn't have a bad feeling about it when Murdock announced his new obsession with dust bunnies (_"Why would they call them bunnies if they aren't MEANT to be a pet?!" "Because bunnies aren't PETS, Fool!")_, or when the van's tires got slashed and BA blamed him, or even when Hannibal told them all it would be a piece of cake and the job would be over in no time.

But then it all really went to shit and both he and Murdock found themselves captured by the gang they were paid to get rid of, and that bad feeling came roaring in with a vengeance.

After some threats and fists were thrown, both team members found themselves shoved into a small jail cell with growled instructions to "not try anything funny."

Even Murdock's quip about how he couldn't _help _but be funny, seeing how he lived in the funny house did nothing to lighten the mood, instead it earned him a solid punch in the gut and Face's hissed admonition to be quiet.

They both spent the first few hours taking in their surroundings, looking to see if there was any possible way of escape. However, as the hours rolled on they both realized that if an escape was to happen, it would have to come in the form of a white-haired colonel and a burly mechanic.

Murdock plopped on the ground, sliding his back against the bars that separated the two. Face was reticent to sit. He had worn one of his nicer suits for this job, and really didn't look forward to dry-cleaning his dust-caked clothing, pets or not. _Hannibal is definitely getting that bill._

Eventually however, he found himself drawn over to his friend, and gingerly he lowered himself to the ground.

Time stretched on into hours, and eventually even Murdock's rambling about all the tricks he trained his dust bunny named Benny to perform slowly faded away as Face became absorbed in his own thoughts.

"I'm not lost anymore, you know."

"Hmm? What's that?" Face shook himself out if his daydreams, massaging the back of his neck gingerly. _That's going to do nothing for my posture… _

As usual his mind felt sluggish and slow trying to keep up with Murdock's ever-changing thoughts. _Was he confused where he was? Was he having a flashback?_

"I'm not back in 'Nam if that's what you're thinkin', kemosabe," Murdock said dryly as a small smirk flashed across his face. Shaking his head guiltily, Face still marveled at the alacrity with which Murdock seemed to read his mind.

"Sorry, buddy," he sighed, letting his head fall back against the bars behind him. It wasn't a very comfortable position. The bars dug painful grooves into his back and spine. Behind him and to his left, Murdock mirrored the position on his side of the enclosure, his shaggy hair sometimes tickling Face's ear. In the army, neither of them had been much for regulations when it came to personal appearance. They each in their own way thumbed their noses at authority, with bomber jackets or expensive cologne – or hair that barely passed muster.

_It's funny how still after all these years some things haven't changed…_

Murdock's voice pulled him back to the present.

"Sometimes, when I'm up there, I think I hear something callin' me, you know?"

Face felt his lips pull into a frown. It wasn't like Murdock to be so serious. "Something? You mean something like Billy?"

Turning slightly, Murdock gave him an incredulous look out of the corner of his eye. "Billy's a dog, Face. He doesn't talk, he can only bark!"

"Oh...right, sorry." _Of course, silly of me to forget the imaginary dog doesn't actually talk. _

Murdock turned his face back forward, his fingers playing with the dust on the ground beside him. "It's not like that, Facey. Not like -" and he gestured vaguely toward the direction of his head. _Not like normal. _

Face swallowed, no longer amused. This wasn't typical Murdock, recounting another one of his imaginary friends or annoying BA with his talk about space hamsters. An uneasy feeling began to form in his gut.

Face wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his pants. Hesitantly, he queried before he could stop himself, "What does the voice say?"

Slotting the back of his head to rest between two bars, Murdock looked up at the ceiling. "It's not always clear. I just catch pieces sometimes. But I think," and here he smiled, "It just feels safe. Like it's callin' me home."

_Second star to the right, and straight on til morning. _The words sprung up from deep inside him, causing a thrill of fear to rise in his heart as a memory of another night, another country floated into him mind.

_Peter Pan, Captain Hook, Neverland. _

_It always seemed like a place I could call home…_

Immediately Face shook his head. "Aw come on, Murdock. I don't know what you're hearing, but your home is here. With us." He turned fully around so both his hands gripped the cold steel and he pressed his face into the slot next to the back of Murdock's head. He opened his mouth, and without thinking, the words he couldn't allow himself to say all those years ago tumbled out.

"Your home is with me."

Something flashed in Murdock's eyes at his words, something so deep and profound Face wasn't sure he was ready to contemplate the meaning of it.

_Your home is here. Your home. _

_Home._

_Home._

_Home. _

His own eyes widened in realization. Had he, the perpetual orphan, found his home? Had he found his – his happily ever after in a growling mountain of a man, a cigar chomping adrenaline addict, and a shaggy haired, crazy pilot with chocolate brown eyes?

But before he could even begin to think about his words and what they implied, his introspections were cut short as the door on Murdock's side abruptly burst open and several beefy gang members strode into the tight space. Both Face and Murdock clambered to their feet.

The one in the lead turned with a sneer to look at Face who had his hands grasping the bars separating him from his friend.

"Looks like it's your lucky day, pretty boy," he stated in a bored tone. "The boss says we only need one of you and," he jerked a thumb in Murdock's direction, "it looks like the crazy one's drawn the short stick."

Face's pulse beat a furious tattoo in his neck as he pressed close to the bars. "No, hey, come on guys, this is all a misunderstanding…" his voice tumbled from his lips as he desperately tried to stall for time.

The biker simply shook his head. "Sorry, boss's orders." He nodded his head at the other biker who grasped Murdock's arms and began pulling him toward the door.

"No!" Pure panic now reigned within as Face pressed his body even closer against the cold steel bars, his hand reaching out toward empty air. "No, not him, please!" _Please God, not him! _But his words were powerless to stop them. "Take me, you bastards, _take me!"_

"Facey, it's okay," Murdock's eyes captured his, pinning him down and stabbing his heart. "I'll be okay." Still being herded toward the door, Murdock craned his head back toward his friend, throwing him one of his brilliant smiles. "_Second star on the right, and straight on til morning,_" he blurted out before his voice cut off as one gang member threw his fist into his ribs before dragging him all the way out the door.

"No!" Choking back tears, Face clambered over to the narrow window and strained to see. His eyes desperately followed the figure of his friend being forced down a narrow alley between two buildings.

_God, Hannibal where are you?! _his mind screamed. But it seemed no last-minute rescue would arrive this instance, no harebrained plans that somehow saved the day in the nick of time. The pain in his hands from clutching the steel window bars seemed inconsequential as his mind pleaded for a miracle to save his friend.

_BANG. _

When the single shot came, Face felt himself stagger back as if the bullet had buried itself in his own body. The world seemed to eddy around him in streams and swirls of charcoal gray. As his knees threatened to give out, his mind refused to completely give up.

_He could be okay, he could have overpowered the guard, Murdock's smart, he wouldn't let one guard get the best of him…_

With what seemed like an unimaginable feat, he levered himself up once again to peer out the window.

_Please God, please…_ Even the harshest schooling the world could give him had a hard time making him completely forget what he learned from the nuns. He hadn't prayed in years, but now he was praying for all he was worth.

A lone figure appeared on the path, walking slowly toward the barracks. Hope leapt in his heart for a split second until Face saw what was clutched in his hand.

He took one numbed step back before turning and violently emptying the contents of his stomach into the corner.

The biker walking down the path was holding Murdock's jacket.

Face felt himself collapse to his knees on the ground, a low, keening cry issuing from his mouth. Disbelief and pain choked his lungs and squeezed his heart even as one single thought thudded through his mind.

His suddenly attainable fairy tale had just ceased to exist.

* * *

Outside that little room time continued to tick on, endless.

Boots tramped outside.

Bugs hummed and buzzed in an obnoxious chorus.

Meagre rays of the sun struggled their way into little room, the dim light falling limply on the beige walls.

In the corner, Face stared dully into nothing. Dust was everywhere, permeating the floor and the air. It coated his pants, his jacket, his shoes – it even covered his face, except where two small trails had cut through the thin, dirty film.

Nothing truly registered. Time seemed inconsequential, meaningless, just an empty void in which he existed.

Sounds slowly began to filter through to his consciousness. He blinked, eyes closing and opening sluggishly, trying to pull himself out of the well of grief into which he had tumbled headlong.

Vaguely, he heard the popping of gunfire and the roar of an engine. He listlessly pulled himself up into a sitting position before levering himself up to a stand. Peering out into the sun, he glimpsed what could only be described as a tank-ified dump truck being driven by a growling BA and armed by a grinning Hannibal.

The cavalry had arrived.

An indiscernible smile skated across his face as he gave a slight shake of his head. One way or the other it seemed, no matter the odds, Hannibal found a way.

_You gotta stick with your unit. _The words drifted through his mind in a distinct Texan accent.

Pain seared his heart as realization kicked in. They wouldn't be leaving as a unit this time. This time, the odds had won.

"Oh, _God,"_ Face uttered a low moan as he clutched the bars to hold himself upright. The years ahead without his friend seemed to file before his eyes, parading endlessly on and on.

_What am I going to do? _

An earsplitting crash resonated through the air as the far wall of Face's prison collapsed inwards. Face covered his head with his arms as plaster and wood rained down around him. The deafening sound of gunfire filled the space.

"Come on, kid!" Hannibal's voice cut through the dust and noise as he appeared next to Face. His eyes were bright with the light of the jazz. Two wars and a decade of running from the law did nothing to diminish his thirst for adrenaline. If nothing else, it only increased it.

Grabbing Face's elbow, Hannibal looked around the room before peering into Face's eyes, his blue ones boring into green. "Where's Murdock?"

Swallowing, Face opened his mouth to respond but only a faltering, unnatural inhale emerged. Confusion flashed across Hannibal's face.

"Face?" He gave the elbow he grasped a little shake before asking again, "Where's Murdock?"

Finding his voice, Face yanked his elbow out of Hannibal's tight grip. "He's gone, okay? He's gone, gone, _gone, _and I just _found_ him…"

The eerie sounds coming from his mouth changed to a groan as Face slowly sank to his knees, gripping his hair in his hands.

Pressing his lips together, Hannibal crouched next to his second in command. "Lieutenant," he commanded sharply, "Report! Where is the Captain?"

Years of answering to drill sergeants cut through the suffocating fog in his mind. Attempting to gather himself, Face scrubbed a shaking hand across his features. "I don't know, Hannibal. They took him, and…" he took a shuddering breath in, clenching his hands into fists. He focused on the pain in his palms from his nails digging in, "…and I never saw him come back." He finished in a whisper, his voice completely cracking on the final word.

Face couldn't bear to look at his commander's face as realization took hold. He could already picture the stunned hurt and confusion clouding his visage.

A hand reached down and caught his chin, pulling it up to face the grim expression of his commanding officer. "Face," Hannibal's voice was low and deadly. "Did you see a body?"

With the strong hand still gripping his chin Face found he couldn't shake his head. "No, but…"

Hannibal cut him off. "We don't give up until we see a body. Do you hear me, Lieutenant?" He dropped his hand and stood up. "Not until we find a body," he repeated softly.

Face couldn't bear to tell him what he saw – the lone figure walking down the path, a familiar jacket held in a hand like a trophy. Instead, he found himself nodding even while deep down he knew.

There would be no happy ending.

"Okay," he voiced dully as he stood. "What's the plan?"

Hannibal tossed him a pistol he pulled from his waistband, his look tight and ominous. "We go out shooting."

BA's voice could be heard from inside the dump truck, calling out how he couldn't wait much longer for the fools.

Both turned and ran to the truck, swinging up and behind the metal plating BA had installed as a shield along the side. BA noticed right away something was wrong. His dark eyes darted between the two men.

"Where's the fool?" He growled, already throwing the truck into reverse and backing out of the hole they had made. Face could hear bullets pinging along the back sides of the truck.

Hannibal shot a look at Face before answering. "He wasn't with Face. We've still got to find him."

BA turned glared at them both, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Well Faceman? Where's the fool? Where should I go?"

Face opened his mouth, but Hannibal once again answered for him. "See all their Harleys parked over there? I think it's time to teach these scumballs it's not _polite_ to hog the road!"

Face felt BA's eyes on him even as he redirected their trajectory toward the motorcycles parked in front of the strip club where the gang members housed their headquarters.

Despite their considerable size, the Harleys stood no chance against the massive wheels of the dump truck. The screeching of the metal almost matched the screeching of the owners as they saw what was being done to their precious rides.

In the ensuing chaos, Face suddenly glimpsed the gang leader. The sight of him snapped him out of the numbing fog enveloping his mind. Promptly, the crippling pain curdled within his stomach, turning into something far more deadly.

Rage.

This was all _his_ fault; that man was the cause of his shattered world. Oh, he might not have been the man who pulled the trigger, but he was the one who ordered them to kill his best friend.

Before Hannibal could stop him, Face jumped off the dump truck and sprinted toward the escaping criminal. Hate pounded through his veins, fueling his sprint. He could hear his teammates yelling behind him as they finished off the other gang members. He ignored their cries, his mind intent on only one thing.

Revenge.

Leaping forward, Face brought down the leader in a flying tackle. They both tumbled to the ground in a heap, rolling and scuffling in the dirt. Face heard the shoulder on his suit jacket rip, but it seemed less than inconsequential now. They traded punches, Face giving as good as he got. The gang leader was bigger, but it didn't matter to Face. He was going to pay.

Finally, Face planted a solid right hook to the man's jaw and he collapsed to ground. Groggily, he sat back on his elbows in the dirt, spitting out blood and glaring up at Face.

Pulling his gun from his waistband, Face pointed it at the man on the ground, his breathing ragged but his hands steady. He could feel blood trickling down his face from a cut on his head.

"You," he spat, his mouth twisting into a snarl. "It's _your fault."_ His eyes flashed grey with fury, like a hurricane looming on the horizon. The gang leader seemed to shrink back in fear from what he saw in those depths. He held up his hands in a pleading gesture.

"Look man, I don't know what you're talking about…"

Just then Hannibal and BA ran up. Scattered around the parking lot various members of the gang sat tied and trussed.

"Face," Hannibal said in a warning tone, holding his hands out toward his lieutenant. "What are you doing?"

Without taking his eyes off the man cowering on the ground, Face shifted to a better grip on his gun. "I told you, Hannibal. He killed Murdock!"

"What?" BA's face took on a look of rage and confusion. "What're you talking about, Faceman?"

"Yeah, he ordered him shot like he didn't matter, like he was _nothing._" His heart thudded in agony at his own words, at the verbal affirmation of what this man had taken from him.

He leaned forward slightly toward the man on the ground, his words hissing out through clenched teeth. "You killed him, so I'm gonna do the same to you." He flicked off the safety and pressed his finger lightly against the trigger. It would be so easy…

All at once he heard a slight sound and saw Hannibal's eyes widened and shift to something behind him. Before he could turn and see what was there, something struck him on the side of the head, and everything went dark.

* * *

_He was dreaming. _

_He could feel the wind rushing past his ears, flicking the ends of his hair into his eyes and stinging his cheeks. Where was he? Was he in a chopper? _

_Looking down, he gasped. He was flying, but __o__n his own. As in sans plane, helicopter, or anything remotely resembling a motor. Terror and astonishment plunged through his mind and warred for dominance. How was this even possible? _

_Until that moment, the rather obvious inconsistency of being able to fly like he was a superhero had completely drowned out his other senses, but slowly he began to notice a slight pressure pulling on his hand. _

"_Murdock?" He turned to find the pilot grinning wildly at him, his eyes flashing with pure joy. "Um, Murdock, if you don't mind me asking . . . what the HELL is going on!?" _

_The smile on Murdock's face never wavered. "You mean to tell me you don't know what this is, Faceguy? Most people would refer to the act of moving over the ground at a breakneck speed without touching it as flying." _

_Eyes rolling, Face had a hard time believing the absurdity of it all. Leave it to Murdock to exasperate him even in a dream. "Okay, I guess I should ask . . . WHY the hell is this going on?" _

_The grin suddenly dropped from Murdock's face. "I think you know, Facey." _

_All at once his previous question became completely irrelevant. Shaking his head, Face pulled his hand away from Murdock. "No," he replied, stubbornly refusing to admit it. "I _don't_ know." _

_Murdock turned and pointed farther up into the night sky. "Can't you see?" _

_Squinting, Face peered into the dark. "See what?"_

"_There, the second star to the right." _

_Then, to Face's horror, Murdock's outline began to waiver and grow faint. "I'm sorry, I've gotta go." _

"_Wait!" He grasped desperately at his friend's hand, clutching it for all he was worth. "Murdock, you . . . you can't go." He was panicking, he could feel it. _

_Gently extracting his hand, Murdock's outline began to fade even more. "I'm sorry, Face. I only came to say goodbye." _

"_Wait, no, you can't…" _

_Murdock's hand reached out and brushed his friend's face. "Goodbye, Face." As those words left his mouth, his figure vanished completely. _

_As Face opened his mouth to cry his friend's name, the morning sun burst over the horizon, the glaring light burning in his eyes... _

"...t's okay, Face, calm down! I'm just checking you for a concussion," Hannibal's familiar voice cut into his consciousness with shocking clarity.

The familiar rumble of the engine was missing, but the recognizable feel of the van's bucket seat beneath him grounded him in reality. Vaguely, he noticed they weren't moving. He squeezed his eyes shut to protect them from the penlight Hannibal was using to check for a concussion and turned his head away toward the window, trying to control his breathing as his chest rose and fell in gasping heaves.

He was safe, he was alive – but he wasn't whole.

He slowly turned his head around to the seat next to him where his best friend normally sat. But instead of dancing brown eyes and a manic grin, he was greeted by Hannibal studying him intently.

Taking in a shuddering breath, Face attempted to gather some vestiges of his typical suave façade even as it rapidly crumbled around him. He felt hollow, empty, like something had reached into his chest and ripped out his beating heart.

"How are you feeling?" Hannibal asked, gazing at Face with an indiscernible look.

Stifling a groan, Face sat up straighter and gingerly felt the back of his head. Pain shot through his skill, causing him to wince. Still, he welcomed the physical pain. Anything to keep him from thinking about his internal pain. Hannibal chewed on his cigar, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Alive," he finally responded listlessly.

Leaning back in the seat next to him, Hannibal continued to give Face a peculiar look. "Do you remember what happened?"

Yes, he remembered. How he wished he could forget, push the memories down and away and pretend they never happened. But he knew he owed Hannibal more than that. Reluctantly he opened his mouth, trying to talk around the lump that sat in his throat and the permanent searing ache in his soul.

"Well, I –"

At just that moment, voices floated in from outside the van.

"Get away from me, sucker!"

"Aw come on, big guy! I promise he just wants to say hello! His name's Dustin, and he told me his cousin lives under your bed!"

_No. _

_That voice…_

Upon hearing that his heart stopped, and Face could feel his face losing all its color. There was no way what he was hearing could be possible. His breathing faltered and he turned his panicked eyes to Hannibal. He couldn't move, his chest felt like it was caving in under the juxtaposition of terrified hope and the reality of crushing despair.

Because if it what he was hearing wasn't real, Face didn't think he would survive.

Seemingly hearing the voices as well, Hannibal slipped out of the van, looking over to the right from where the voices had come. "He's awake," he said quietly, jerking his head toward Face.

Before Face could move, the person he thought he would never see again stepped hesitantly into his field of vision.

"Face?"

Air seemed to freeze around him into a solid mass. His lungs didn't know how to pull in precious oxygen. The nickname had never sounded so wonderful to his ears. Almost too scared to believe it could be true - _please dear God let it be true!_ \- Face slowly gazed into those brown eyes he never thought he would see again.

Murdock stood just outside the van door, looking in at Face with a look of something he couldn't quite place. Was it confusion? Fear? Guilt? However, he didn't - _couldn't - _dwell on that for long. He could feel his mind working in spasms, like a poorly oiled engine seizing in cold weather.

_It can't be possible! _

As if in a dream, Face found himself reaching out a trembling hand. Slowly, his fingers brushed Murdock's brow before gently running behind his ear and tucking in a stray strand of hair, reveling in the touch of the shaggy, soft lock.

"Murdock?" The name came out as a choked rasp.

Eyes flooded with concern, Murdock reached up and gently grasped Face's hand.

"It's me, muchacho."

And at those words, the black hole that had been collapsing in his chest ever since he heard that gunshot suddenly disappeared. With a sound that was definitely _not _a wheezing sob, he threw his arms around his friend and grasped him as hard as he could. Murdock's arms held him back, squeezing just as tightly. Finally, the tears he had been holding back begin to seep from his eyes. Face reveled in the solid feel of his friend in his arms, and he felt as if he was holding on for dear life.

At length, Face reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, trying and failing to secretly wipe the tears off his face.

"Murdock, what happened?"

Murdock plopped down on the floor of the van, his feet dangling over the side. Face slipped down to sit next to him, furtively grasping the hem of Murdock's jacket between his thumb and forefinger.

He wasn't going to let him leave again.

"Well, Facey, it's not really that complicated. When that one goon dragged me outta there, I knew I didn't really have a lot goin' for me, you know?"

Face nodded. He didn't need to be reminded; he knew. In the background, he saw Hannibal and BA walk off, giving the two other men on their team some space.

"I got one break though. I don't know if those others just didn't wanna get their hands dirty or what, but they sent only one guy into the alley to shoot me."

Pulling in air slowly, Face tried to calm his heart's sudden beating. He knew the ending now, he knew Murdock was safe, but the memories of his own terror of seeing his friend being pulled away from him, of hearing that gunshot….

As if sensing his distress, Murdock surreptitiously inched closer until their shoulders bumped.

"Anyway," Murdock continued, "when we got to that alley, the guy made a rookie mistake and stood close enough to me so I could grab the gun. We tussled for a few seconds and I knocked him out. Then I, ah…well, I knew they were expecting to hear a gunshot and all, so…so I fired once into the sky."

Murdock hunched his shoulders as he glanced at the ground. His voice came out soft and remorseful. "I'm sorry I had to do that to you, Facey." He looked back up then, sadness in his eyes. "I didn't wanna hurt you, but I thought that maybe, maybe I could pass as the gang member who was gonna kill me and come rescue you. I didn't know the guys would rescue you first."

"Buddy, I'm just glad you're okay, and you're not…not gone." Swallowing, it was now Face's turn to look at the ground. His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible. "If you had been gone, I don't think I would have survived."

Murdock's reply was equally as soft. "Me neither, Face." Reaching down, he squeezed the hand Face was using to hold onto his jacket lightly. Then he continued his story.

"Well. Like I said, I was planning to rescue you, but I needed to get the key to your cell door. Before I could figure out how to do that, Hannibal and the big guy proved that keys aren't always necessary to open a door. I saw them pull you out of the cell, and I saw you go after the gang leader, and I saw you pull out your gun."

Face felt his cheeks flaring red with shame. He had been so angry that he had been willing to kill a man, to break the one rule they all vowed as a team to keep.

Murdock was still talking, his voice low. "I couldn't let you kill that guy, Face. You know what it would do to you."

Face clenched his jaw. "I thought because of that man you were dead, Murdock. _Dead." _His voice caught, but he pushed through, leaning forward to hiss in Murdock's face. "I would gladly kill him a thousand times if he really had been the reason you were no longer in my life."

Brows knitting together, concern etched its way across Murdock's face. Before he could say anything, Face waved away his comment with a sharp gesture with his hand. "It doesn't matter anyway. I didn't kill him. Some jerk knocked me out before I could pull the trigger."

Murdock's eyes shifted over and down, not looking Face in the eye. Face's mouth dropped open slightly.

"Wait a minute. You mean to tell me YOU did this?" He queried incredulously, motioning at his head.

Murdock had the decency to look guilty. "Well, you looked pretty intent on what you were gonna do, Face, so I grabbed a board and I, ah, well…" He pantomimed hitting someone with a board.

Disbelieving, Face shook his head. "Only you, buddy."

A small smile crept across Murdock's face. "Well," he drawled, "at least I didn't hit you in the face!"

Both looked at each other for a brief second before bursting into laughter. The laughter seemed to be like a healing balm, soothing away the final remnants of pain, fear, and grief that clung to Face's soul. He was okay, Murdock was okay, and once again they were all a team.

Their laugher died away and a comfortable silence filled the space between them. Suddenly, something occurred to Face and he turned to look at his friend.

"Wait, Murdock. Remember how you were talking about the voice in your head? You know, back before…" Trailing off, he gestured vaguely in the air. "Anyway, you said you're not lost anymore. What does the voice have to do with not being lost?"

Huffing a small laugh, Murdock turned his coffee brown eyes to him and Face felt his mouth dry up at the look shining within them. "The voice has nothing to do with that, Face. You answered that question yourself."

"Me?"

"Remember, Facey?" All of the sudden, Murdock leaned in, no trace of his normally jovial demeaner. "I'm not lost, cuz I've found my home. You, Hannibal, the big guy, you're my home."

Apparently, this was just a day for crying, because Face could once again feel the sharp sting of tears growing behind his eyelids. But Murdock wasn't done talking.

"Yours is with me, too."

Face blinked, both in surprise and in an attempt to dissipate the tears filling his eyes. "My what is with you?" He asked, once again lost along Murdock's bunny trail.

Leaning even closer, brown eyes searched deep into green, peeling away façade after façade that had been built up over decades in the attempt to protect himself from the pain of abandonment.

"Your home," Murdock whispered. "Your home is with me, too."

For a moment longer their eyes remained locked.

And in that instant, looking at his friend, Face realized something. Fairy tales were still shit, nothing would change that.

But it was okay, because he had found his happily ever after.


End file.
